 CHAPTER VI Peasley, where were you when that shot was fired? Mr. Peasley, white and trembling with some strong emotion, had his hands upon the table and was raising himself slowly and painfully to his feet. He rolled his eyes, which looked bigger and more pathetic than ever behind his glasses, toward Farnsworth at the sound of his voice, but the young man knew instinctively that Solomon, moved by some strong idea of his own, had not grasped the question. Gentlemen, Mr. Peasley began in shaky tones. I guess I got a word to say before you find a true bill against that little feller. He's as peaceable a boy as I ever saw, and I guess I can't let him stay all bolted and barred into no jail when it don't need anything but my say-so to get him out. You see, gentlemen, Solomon paused, moistened his dry mouth, and cast a timorous look over the puzzled faces of the juryman. You see, it was me that shot the moray. Not a sound came from the grand jury. The members sat and stared at him in blank wonder, hardly able to credit their ears. Page, the state's attorney who was making some notes at the time, held his pen for a good half-minute partway between his paper and the ink stand while he gazed in astonishment at Peasley. To have a grand juror, a sober, respectable man, rise in the jury room and confess that he is the real offender in a case under consideration is not usual. The surprise was absolute. For Farnsworth it was more than a surprise, it was a relief. When his betrothed had been right, Jim had not fired the shot. He felt a glow of admiration for Nancy's sure intuition and loyalty to her pupil. He rejoiced that Jim was cleared for her sake and for the boys. Insensibly he had grown more and more interested in Jim and attached to him. Now everything was explained. Everything? Now Jim's strange activity in concealing the evidences of the shot, his queer reserve when questioned as to what he knew, these seemed more perplexing than ever. Farnsworth, hoping for light upon these points, settled back in his chair to listen. Mr. Peasley had more to say. It kinder goes against the grain, Solomon resumed, with a weary, depreciatory smile. To own up you've been acting like a fool, but I guess I got to do it. This was the way on it. I stepped over to Eddards just to talk over matters and things. Well, I couldn't seem to raise anybody to the front of the house, so I kinder slid into the boys room to see if there wasn't somebody out back. There wasn't. There didn't seem to be anybody home. Now, gentlemen, seems as though you'd see how twas when I tell ye. There's an old white and yaller cat with a kinder sassy patch over her eye. Mr. Peasley's meek voice here took on a trace of heat. That's been a pester in the life out of me going on a year. I guess ye know how tis, one of them pesky, yowlin, chicken-stealing, rusty old nuisances that ain't any sociability to them anyhow. Well, there she was a settin, comfortable as a hot-punkin pie and lookin as if she owned a place. And there was the boy's gun right there handy. The cat riled me so I just loaded her up. It twattin human nature not to, now was it? Twattin nuttin but a bird shot, so I sorta stuck in a marble. I couldn't do no harm, and it might kinder help a little. And I just fired her off. I didn't expect to hit any French Canadian. I didn't know there was any of the critters round. Then, when I see a fella fall out of the bushes, I was scared now, I tell ye. Here I was, member of the grand jury and everything, and it didn't somehow seem right and fittin for no member of the grand jury to be fillin up a fella human being with bird shot and marbles. I guess I didn't think much what I was a doin of know how. Tanny rate, I just sneaked off home and then I just let things slip along and slide along till here I be. I guess if a true bill's got to be found again, any one, it's got to be found again in me. And Mr. Peasley sank huddled and hopeless into his chair. His fellow members were for a moment silent, but soon this tale of a cat, bird shot, and an unexpected Canadian began to disclose a comic aspect. The plight of the poor, respectable Mr. Peasley and all the fresh honors of his jurorship began to show a ludicrous side, their own position as grave men seeing what they thought of a serious offense change, as by magic into a farcical accident bit by bit revealed its humor. Samson, the foreman, glanced at Page, the state's attorney. The young man's face wore an odd expression, their eyes met and Samson's mouth began to twitch. Albion Small, who was, quote, considerable of a joker, end quote, suddenly choked. Barnsworth, having revealed to him in a flash the significance of the harmonica with harp attachment, gave way and laughed outright. Smiles appeared on faces all round the table, and as the comicality of the whole affair more and more struck upon their astonished minds, the smiles became a general laugh, the laugh a roar, and this mirth had so good humor to note that Solomon, taking heart, looked about the table with a sheepish grin, but his heart sank and his grin vanished when all eyes fell upon. Abhijay Keith, for Abhijay did not smile. He sat grim as fate, stern disapproval of all this levity expressed in every deep fold of his wrinkled old countenance. A formidable person was Abhijay, he had a great brush of white hair which stood up fiercely from his narrow forehead, a high arched nose like the beak of a hawk, on which rested a pair of huge round spectacles, a mouth like a straight line enclosed between a great parentheses of leathery wrinkles, up from under his old-fashioned stock, round a chin like a paving-stone, curled an aggressive, white, wiry beard, and his blue eyes were still bright and hard. Can't see what you cackling so foe, he exclaimed, his shrill accents full of contempt, acting like a parcel of hens, there's a man shot ain't they, somebody shot him didn't they, he and Abhijay pointed a knotted, skinny, hard old finger at the shrinking Solomon, he shot him didn't he, sir his business call it, guess the grand jury's got something to say to it ain't they, cat, cat's footsay, lacklustory, lacklustory, don't believe word on't. Solomon dared to steal a look and was not reassured to see in the juryman's faces doubt replacing mirth, then Hiram Hopkins' hearty voice, ringing with opposition, struck upon his delighted ear, he remembered Hiram's dislike for the cantankerous Keith, here perhaps was a defender. Oh come, Mr. Keith, oh come now, he heard Hopkins exclaim, what's the use of raising a rumpus, it wasn't nothing but a bird shot, folks don't go murdering folks with a bird shot. Don't care if it was a bird shot, came Abhijay's snapping tones, don't care if it was pinheads, principle's the same, it is, it is, admitted Solomon in his soul. Well, said Hiram with a common sense in which Mr. Peasley took comfort, the practical effect is mighty different. Gentlemen, he added to the jurors, I can't see that we've got any call to go further with this, Peasley was just shooting at a cat, I don't see the sense of taking up the time of the court and making expense for any such foolishness, I say we'd better dismiss young Edwards' case, and Peasley's along with it, it's such fool-doings, I think we'd better, if only to keep folks from laughing at the grand jury. Solomon's heart was in his mouth, would the others take this view, or Keith's? Oily talk, dreadful oily talk, came Abhijay's pierced pipe, don't take any stock in it, shot him didn't he, grand juror, what difference does that make, if they ain't fit, weed him out, weed him out. Bet, said Hiram, it took some spunk to get up there and tell it just what a fool he'd been didn't, huh, Abhijay interrupted with a snort, had to didn't he, Tharnsworth asked him where he was didn't he, had to squirm out somehow didn't he, got about as much spine as a taller candle with the wit draw out according to his own showing, better weed him out, better weed him out, huh. Poor Mr. Peasley sank still lower in his chair, his head fell still lower on his chest, they were taking away from him even the credit of a voluntary confession. Why had Tharnsworth asked that question, and casting doubt upon his one brave deed, fate seemed to him to have done its worth, he'd got up before I put the question, said Tharnsworth, he wished to be just, but he was indignant with Peasley. After his first laughter, his thoughts had dwelt upon the trouble that Solomon had brought upon the innocent gem, just to save his own hide, the old ski-zix, he exclaimed himself. After all, what did he know about Peasley? If the man had merely shot at a cat, why under the sun should he not have said so at once and saved all this bother? The more he thought, the more indignant he grew, and the more doubtful. He did not notice at all the look of timid gratitude which Mr. Peasley cast in his direction. Of course he was up before you spoke. Solomon was further gratified to hear Hopkins declare in his big hearty voice, and I think a man who owns up fair and square, just when it's hardest to, has got spine enough to hold him together anyhow. Up before you asked him, Abhijah turned on Tharnsworth. Up for what? Tell me that, will you? And Solomon, listening anxiously for Tharnsworth's answer, was depressed to hear him give merely a good-humored laugh at Uncle Abhijah's thrust. Mr. Peasley asked Sampson so unexpectedly that Solomon jumped. Didn't you say something about a marble? Yes, said Mr. Peasley gloomily. Fit the boar, did it, continued the foreman. Slick, answered Mr. Peasley with the brevity of despair. If that marble fitted the boar, said Albuyan small, while Sampson nodded assent, it's my opinion it might do considerable damage. His opinion had weight, for small was a hunter of repute. Learned from their amusement, the grand jurors had become gradually impressed with the idea that Mr. Peasley's confession still left some awkward questions unanswered. If the matter were so simple as he said, why had he kept silent so long? The jurymen came from all over the rather large county, and although they had some knowledge of the principal men of Elmington, and although such of them as had dealings at its bank had met Mr. Peasley, none of them knew him well. He was a newcomer at the village, and when at his farm had not had a wide acquaintance. They looked to Farnsworth as his fellow townsmen to speak for him, but Farnsworth said nothing and seemed preoccupied and doubtful. The inference was that he shared their perplexity. They felt that Keith, for all his cantankerousness, might be right. Everyone could draw no comfort from their faces. All this while, Page had been playing with his watch chain and watching Abhijah, whose character he appreciated, with discreet amusement, but he found himself an essential agreement with the peppery old fellow. Ask the state attorney why don't she? Put in Keith impatiently, he'll tell ye I've got the rights on it. Ain't afraid, be ye? Mr. State's attorney, he said, turning to Page, I guess perhaps you'd better give us the law of this. Well, gentlemen, said Page, as a matter of law, Mr. Keith would seem to be right. And at the word, Solomon's spirit sank to new depths. Didn't I tell ye? Said Abhijah triumphantly. Had the state's attorney said that he was wrong, the old man would have called him a pappanjay to his face. Abhijah's exclamation was not deference to legal knowledge. It was merely quick seizure of a tactical point. LaMaurie was shot. Page went on, with a little smile at Keith's interruption. And by his own statement, Mr. Peasley shot him. On his own admission, his gun was dangerously loaded. Although a boy, a neighbor's son, was charged through his act with a serious offense against the laws, he made no confession, and, when at last he did speak, it is at least open to debate whether he did it of his own volition or because he was forced to do so by the embarrassing question put to him by one of your number. I don't impugn his veracity, but I am bound to remark that he is an interested witness. All this is a question of fact for you to consider. I think you should know a little more. To determine if there was any motive, you need to know if there was any bad blood between Mr. Peasley and LaMaurie. To find an indictment to fit the case, you need to know how badly LaMaurie is hurt. I think you should have LaMaurie here, cross-questioning him, and perhaps Mr. Peasley. Solomon shivered. Should establish whether the shot was accidental, as the accused says, or intentional, as LaMaurie contends. I'll have the complainant here tomorrow, if it's a possible thing, as there's no formal charge as yet against Mr. Peasley. I think you may properly postpone until then the question of entering a complaint or making an arrest, if necessary, Solomon shivered again, and of his proper holding for appearance before the court. Meanwhile, I suggest that you dispose of the case against young Edwards, and then adjourn. Mr. Peasley, he added significantly, will of course be present tomorrow morning. Sarton, sarton, answered poor Solomon tremulously. It was already late, and when the grand jury had formally dismissed the complaint against Jim, the hour was so advanced that adjournment was taken for the day. When Mr. Peasley left the courthouse, no one spoke to him, and he walked slowly home, full of the worst forevotings. Why had he put in that marble? Relieved of his burden of anxiety and remorse in regard to Jim, he began to think more definitely than he had done here to fore of the possibility of serious harm to LaMaurie. It was dreadful to think that he might have badly wounded an inoffensive man. Was LaMaurie much hurt? What would happen to a marble in a shotgun anyhow? Would he be arrested? Would his case get to trial? Could he, without a single witness, prove that it was an accident? The sinister figure of Jake Hibbard rose before him and made him feel helpless and frightened. The future looked bleak. But I had done right, he tried to console himself by saying, I had done right. Better late than never to be sure, but if genuine comfort in a good deed assault, it is best to act at once. Mr. Peasley could feel but small satisfaction in his tardy confession. Moreover he must now face his wife. As he turned with reluctant feet into his own yard, he fairly shrank in anticipation under the sharp hail of her biting words. To postpone a little the inevitable, to gather strength somewhat to meet the shock, he passed the kitchen porch and went on toward the barn, seating himself upon an upturned pale. He stayed there a long while, still as a statue, while he chewed the cud of bitter reflection. After a while, at the barn door, there was a familiar flash of white and yellow. Looking wearily up, he saw the great green eyes of the calico cat fastened upon him in fierce distrust. She had one foot uplifted, as if she did not know whether it was safe to put it down, and in her mouth, pendant, was a calico kitten. Mr. Peasley, silent and immovable, watched her with apathetic eyes. Finally, as if assured he was not dangerous, she put down her foot and disappeared with soft and cushioned tread into the dim recesses of the barn. Yet, a little while, and she again appeared in the doorway with a second duplicate of herself. Again an interval, and she brought a third. Well, said Solomon to himself, his spirit quite crushed, I guess she ain't bringing no more than belonged to me by rights. Nevertheless, he could not endure to see any others. He went desperately into the house where he found his wife fuming over his delay. I guess I may as well tell ye, first is last, he said in a sort of stubborn despair, twas me that shot Lemory. You, exclaimed his wife, dropping her knife and fork and looking at him as though he had taken leave of his senses. I guess I'm the feller, he averred with queer apathetic humor. And turning a patient rounded back to his wife's expected indignation, he told his story while he nervously washed at the sink and fumblingly dried his face and hands in the coarse roller-towel. He made these operations last as long as his confession. Then, at the end of his resources, he turned to face the storm. Mrs. Peasley simply looked at him. She struggled to speak, but she found herself in the predicament of one who has used up all ammunition on the skirmish line and comes helpless to the battle. She simply could think of nothing adequate to say. She stared at her husband while he stared out of the window. Then she gave it up. Droll up your chair, she said sharply. I guess you gotta eat, whatever ye be. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Calico Cat This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, order volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia. The Calico Cat by Charles Minor Thompson. Chapter 7 When the grand jury dispersed after Mr. Peasley's confession, Farnsworth, first speaking a few words to Page, the state's attorney, hurried toward the union school. As he expected, he met Miss Ware coming from it on her way to her boarding house. He waved his hat and called, Jim's free. As he reached her side, he added, he didn't fire the shot at all. Of course he didn't, cried Nancy triumphantly, didn't I tell you, but who did, and how did you find out? Peasley, said Farnsworth, he owned up. Mr. Peasley, didn't that awful harmonica, why the wretch? Shhh, warned Farnsworth, not so loud. These are jury room secrets, which I'm not supposed to tell. But he told them, nevertheless. As the two walked along together, he gave her an account of all that had happened. But what I don't understand, he concluded, is what made Jim behave so? What did he clean his gun for? Why did he hide the rags and put away the ammunition? He acted just as if he were trying to shield someone. We know he wasn't trying to shield himself, and I don't see why he should shield Peasley. Fred, said Nancy, stopping and facing him. Jim knew that his father was the only person in the house, didn't he? Yes, said Farnsworth. Then he thought his father did it. Oh, Pasha, exclaimed Farnsworth, he couldn't. Don't be rude, Fred, admonished Nancy. Was it I write before? Well I'm right now. How could he have thought anything else? I'm going straight to the jail and find out. And can we get him away from that jail? Yes, said Farnsworth. I spoke to Paige. He said he'd bring the boy in and have him discharged this afternoon. He has to appear before the judge, you know, before he can be let go. That's nice, said Nancy. Now, Fred, you go straight to Mr. Edwards and bring him up there, too. I don't suppose anyone's thought to tell him. But I haven't had any dinner, objected Farnsworth. Dinner, exclaimed Ms. Ware in deep scorn, and Farnsworth laughed and surrendered. They separated then. Ms. Ware took the side street to the jail, while Farnsworth hurried along toward Edwards' house. Mr. Edwards, he said, when that gentleman appeared at the door, Ms. Ware wants you right away at the jail. And as he spoke, he was struck with the strain which showed in the man's face. He must have felt it a good deal. He reflected with surprise. A sudden fear showed in Mr. Edwards' eyes. Jim isn't sick, is he? He asked. Oh, no, replied Farnsworth hastily. He's cleared, that's all. We'll have him out of jail this afternoon. Cleared? Repeted Mr. Edwards distrustfully. Was Farnsworth joking? Nothing was more certain in the father's mind than that Jim had fired the shot. No other supposition was possible. His face grew severe at the thought that Farnsworth was trifling with him. Yes, cleared, said the young man, somewhat nettle. We have absolute, certain proof that Jim hadn't anything to do with it. I should like to hear it. Did Mr. Edwards coldly? Well, we have the real offender's own confession, said Farnsworth, irritated at the incredulity of the man. What was the fellow made of? Mr. Edwards said nothing. He turned and got his hat, and walked with Farnsworth up the street the half mile to the jail. His face was impassive, but his movements had a new alertness. And Farnsworth noted that he had to walk painfully fast to keep up with this much older man. Edwards, in spite of his cold exterior, was a man of strong feeling, and there was, in fact, a deep joy and a deep regret at his heart. He knew with thankfulness that he had a truthful and courageous son. He saw with passionate self-reproach that he had done the boy a great injustice. But why had Jim cleaned the gun? Farnsworth, little guessing the turmoil in the heart of the grave man by his side, was wondering if, after all, Ms. Ware could be right in thinking that Jim had sacrificed himself for this unfeeling parent. If she is right, he reflected thinking how harsh had been the father's treatment of the boy. What a little brick Jim is. He had a very human desire to present this view and prick this automaton into some show of life. Mr. Edwards, he said suddenly, Jim knew, didn't he, that you were the only person besides himself at home? I suppose so. Does it occur to you that he may have thought you did the shooting? That can't be so, said Mr. Edwards, but there was a note of shocked concern of dismay in his tone which satisfied Farnsworth, and again he thought more kindly of his companion. And Mr. Edwards was stirred by the unexpected question. After all, he thought, since Jim was not trying to shield himself, whom else could he wish to shield? And a sudden, deep enthusiasm filled him for this son who was not only courageous and truthful, but who, in spite of his unjust treatment, was loyal, who, he thrilled at the word, loved him. But no, it was not possible. How could his son have thought that he could accuse his boy of what he had done himself? And upon this doubt, he found himself with a quickened pulse at the door of the jail. Farnsworth rang the bell. Soon they stood in Mrs. Calken's sitting room, facing Jim and Nancy, and then Miss Ware caught Farnsworth by the arm and drew him quickly into the hall and shut the door behind her. I'm certain, she whispered breathlessly, when I told Jim first, he wasn't glad at all, until I managed to let him know his father wasn't arrested. Oh, Fred, that boy's a little trump. Meanwhile, in Mrs. Calken's sitting room, father and son faced each other, and it would be hard to say which of the two was the more embarrassed. But certain questions burned on Mr. Edwards' lips. Jim, he said with anxious emotion, did you think that I shot LaMaurie? Yes, sir, said Jim, but why, my boy, why should I want to shoot him? LaMaurie had been telling, said Jim, highly embarrassed. Telling, said his father, in perplexity. Yes, sir, said Jim, you know about your being a smuggler. Much astonished, Mr. Edwards pushed his questions and soon came to know the depth and breath of his boy's misconception. Then, he said finally, when I accused you of having fired the shot, you thought I had to do so to avoid an arrest which would be serious for me. Is that it? Yes, sir. Mr. Edwards could not speak for a moment for emotion. Then he drew the boy to him. My son, my son, he said, you and I must know each other better. And by the same token, Jim realized that his father was proud of him and loved him. It was new and sweet. He felt a little foolish, but very happy. Jim, his father said huskily, would you like a new breach loader? And then Jim was happier still. Those were reluctant feet which dragged Mr. Peasley the next morning to the jury room. The council of the night had brought no comfort, and when he came among his fellows, their constraint and silence were far from reassuring. Nor, when the sitting had begun, did he like the enigmatic smile with which the well-dressed page stood and swung his watch-chain, how he distrusted and feared this smug, self-complacent young man, yet the state's attorney's first words brought him unexpected comfort. Mr. LaMaurie, he said, still with that puzzling smile, has consented, in spite of his serious physical condition, to appear before you. LaMaurie could not be so badly hurt if he could come to the courthouse. But what was this? While the state's attorney held wide at the door, Jake Hebert solemnly pushed into the room a great-willed chair in which sat the small, wiry, furtive-eyed LaMaurie. Mr. Peasley's heart sank as he saw the wheeled chair and noted the great bandages about the Frenchman's head and arm. He listened apprehensively to the loud complaint of cruelty to his client which Hebert continued to make, until Page, pulling the chair into the room, blandly shut the door in his face. Mr. Peasley heaved a great sigh of mingled contrition and fear. This wreck was his work. He would be punished for it. Mr. LaMaurie, Page began courteously, we so wished to get your version of this painful affair that, though we are sorry to cause you any discomfort, we have felt obliged to bring you here. Will you kindly tell the gentleman of the grand jury what happened? Yes, say me. I'll told him, said LaMaurie eagerly, confident that no one knew anything about what had happened except Jim Edwards and himself, he intended to make his narrative striking. Yes, sir. I'll told the truth. Well, sir, I'll be going true when sure Edwards is orchard, walking true, same as any man's. Then, I look, I see that little boy in the windy, a shouting and a cussing like he gone crazy in his head. Ha, told you, I feel bad for hear that little boy cussing. That was too shame. And LaMaurie paused to let this beautiful sentiment impress itself upon the jurors. Mr. Peasley listened with profound astonishment. Then, he hollered something. Ah, ain't hear only. Canuck, hawn, ah, begins, forget my mad's up. Ah, ain't do him no harm. Then, he fire he's gun. Boom! And more as 20, probably 10 shot buck, heat me on the head of it. Buck shot? Them's the marble, thought Mr. Peasley. But there wasn't but one. Ha, told you, they sting like bumblebees. Ha, tink me, that weekend little boy going for some shoot more, as once probably, maybe two, treetam. Ha, drop quick into grass. And I run, run quick. And when I get home, I'll find two, treet, five, maybe four, whole in my arm, more big as my thumb. Pete stopped dramatically. His little sparkling black eyes traveled quickly from one face to another to note the effect he had made. Mr. Peasley's spirits were rising. The green jury could not believe such a parcel of lies. Only, only was one of those holes big as my thumb made for chance by a marble. That's a mighty moving narrative, commented Samson Dryley. Did I understand you to say that you were hit in the head or the arm? Both of it, averred Pete without winking. I didn't shoot any bag of marbles, whispered Mr. Peasley to his neighbor, who nodded, that he had the courage to address a remark to anyone, shows how his spirits were rising. You said you were going along the shortcut through Mr. Edwards' orchard, didn't you? The state's attorney now asked. Yes, sir, said Pete. Each steps to a big blackboard which he had set up at the end of the room and rapidly sketched a plan of the Edwards' lot, with the aid of a memorandum of measurements which he had secured. A line across the upper left-hand corner represented the path commonly used by the neighbors in going through the Edwards' orchard. Now, Mr. LaMaurie, resumed Page, I don't quite understand how. If you were on the path there, you could have seen young Edwards, or he, you. The barn seems to be in the way, until just at the right-hand end. And when you get to that, you'd have to look through about ten rows of apple trees. Now weren't you a little off the line? Damn, exclaimed Pete ingenuously, all was God for me since I was shoot, ain't it? I can't remember. Mr. Edwards told us, continued Page, while Solomon's heart warmed to him, that he saw you fall out of some bushes. Now these are the only bushes there are. And he rapidly indicated on the board the rows of current bushes, the asparagus, the sunflowers, and the lilacs which lined the garden on its right-hand corner. That's a good way from the path. I'll be there me, cried Pete, in indignant alarm. No, Seth, once your Edwards say that, respectable man, like once your Edwards, it was a shame for Lyso. No, Seth, I'll go home true to Hortured. Maybe I'll go little ways off the path of it. Maybe if I'll peek up apple off into ground, what no one ain't won't feride of it. I'll don't remember, but I ain't go for hide in the bush. I'll be honest, man's me, I'll go for a walk where all man's can see, ain't it? What I'll go hide for me. Page drew a square on Mr. Peasley's side of the fence, directly opposite the bushes. That, said he, is Mr. Peasley's henhouse. And he brushed the chalk from his fingers with an air of indifference. So, cried Pete, with an air of pleased surprise, once your Peasley, he'll got henrouse? First time, all was heard of it me, fine tang for have henrouse, fine tang for once your Peasley, I'll tank him for be lucky once your Peasley, but I ain't know it. I ain't seen nothing of it, no sir. And Pete smiled innocently, round at the enigmatic faces of the jurymen. Mr. LaMaurie, said Page, with a very casual air, behind those bushes is a broken board. So, said Pete, anyone who was there had an excellent chance to study the fastenings of Mr. Peasley's henhouse door. Mass, I'll was told you I'll not be there me. Cried Pete, alarmed and excited. That, said Mr. Page calmly, is the only place where you could be and get shot from the boy's window. Either you were there or you weren't shot. Besides, Mr. Edwards found your footprints. Pete shrunk his head into his shoulders and glared questioningly at the state's attorney. The examination was not going to his liking. What I'll care for that, he said at last. Oh, nothing, said Page, nothing at all. Let us talk of something else. Let me ask why Mr. Edwards discharged you from his employ last spring. Nothing, nothing, I'll be work for him more good as never was. If he treated you as unjustly as that, said Page, with sympathy, you could not have a very high opinion of Mr. Edwards. I'll told you he was bad man. He discharged me more as 60 miles off. I'll have for walk me. I'll told you that was mean treak for play on pole mans. And Pete sought sympathy from the faces around him. That was too bad, certainly, said Page. Now about those wounds of yours, I have Dr. Brigham here ready to make an examination. I'll call him now. And the state's attorney started toward the door of the witness room. Pete jumped. Hey, he exclaimed. You don't object to having an excellent doctor like Dr. Brigham look at your wounds, do you? Asked Page. Now Lemory had no wounds to show. The smiling, well-dressed Page, standing there and looking at him with amused comprehension, was more than he could bear. Pete suddenly lost his temper, never too secure. Out of his wheelchair he jumped and shaking his fist in Page's face, he shouted, Tink, you be smart, very smart, mans. Well, I'll told you, you ain't, I'll told you, you be great big pig. I'll told you that Edwards boy, he shoot at me, I see him. Take my fault of it if he not hit me, huh? You be pig. You all be pigs. And Pete, making a wide, inclusive gesture, shouted, I cannot mow as one seat for the whole Keaton caboodle of it, pig, pig, pig. And turning on his hill, the wrathful Frenchman left the room. He left also a convulsed jury and a wheeled chair for the hire of which Hibbard found himself later obliged to pay. Mr. Peasley, the thermometer of whose spirits had been rising steadily, joined in the laughter which followed the exit of the discomfited Pete. Terrible, smart fellow, Page, manny, said he to Albion Small, did him a real slick dintty. The delighted Solomon had quite forgotten his dislike for the city-fied Page. Of course, the grand jury promptly abandoned the inquiry. The fact was now obvious that the vengeful Lamouri, aided by the unscrupulous Hibbard, had merely hoped to be bought off by Mr. Edwards and had been disappointed. The case, said Page, would never have come to trial. If Edwards had persisted and let his boy go to court, they'd have had to stop. They must have been a good deal disappointed when he refused the bail. They probably thought he'd never let the boy pass a night in Hotel Calkins. Mr. Peasley walked home, sobered but relieved. The loss of public esteem which had come to him through his foolish adventure, the serious wrong which he had inflicted upon Jim Edwards, the disgust of his wife, were all things to chase in a man's spirit. But on the other hand, Jim was now out of jail. Lamouri had not been hurt in the least, and he himself had not been complained of or arrested. If he should have to endure some chafing from Jim Bartlett and C. Spooner, his cronies at the bank, he guessed he could stand it. On the whole, he was moderately happy. The sun was low in the west, and the trees were casting long shadows across his yard, brightly spattered with the red and yellow of autumn leaves. His house, white and neat and comfortable, seemed basking like some still, somnolent animal in the warm sunshine. Solomon turned and cast his eye down the road and over the random river, flowing smooth and peaceful through its great oxbow. He recognized Danny's snow, scuffling through the dust with his bare feet as he drove home his father's great, placid, full-uttered cow. The comfort of the scene, the cozy pleasantness of the place among the close-coming hills, struck him in his relieved mood as it had never done before. Even though disappointed in political ambition, a man might live there in some content. After all, he had thirty thousand dollars, and it had been calmly drawing interest through all his tribulations. Consoled by this reflection, he walked to the rear of his house and began pottering about the chicken-yard. Then in the Edwards garden appeared Jim. Solomon gave a slight start and took a hesitating step or two, as if minding to flee, but restrained by shame. He watched the boy come to the fence and climb upon it. He said nothing, he could think of nothing to say. "'That harmonica was fine,' said Jim, grinning amiably. Mr. Peasley was immensely relieved. If there was a momentary twinge at the thought of the money it had cost him, it was quickly gone. "'Glad you enjoyed it. Seems, though, I wanted to give you a little something, considering I hope you and your father ain't ones to lay it up against me.' "'That's all right,' said Jim grandly. I had a bully time at the jail. Mrs. Calkins is a splendid woman. You just ought to eat one of her doughnuts.' "'Didn't know they fed you up much to the jail,' commented Solomon puzzled. "'Oh, I wasn't locked up,' said Jim and explained. "'Well, well, I'm beat. That was clever on him. Wasn't it now?' said Mr. Peasley, much pleased. "'And father ain't holding any grudge either,' said Jim. He says he's much obliged to you.' "'A remark which the reader will understand better than Mr. Peasley ever did.' "'You listen when you're eating your supper,' cried Jim, as he climbed down from the fence and ran toward the house. "'I'm going to play on that harmonica.' And Solomon rejoiced. Poor man, he did not know how the popularity of his gift was destined to endure. He did not know that he had let loose upon the circumambient air sounds worse than any ever emitted by the calico cat. Filled with the pleasant sense of having made it up with the boy whom he thought he had so greatly injured, Solomon started along the path toward the kitchen door. He began to realize he had an appetite, something now long unfamiliar to him. As he drew near, an appetizing odor smote his nostrils. "'Eisters, I swanny,' he ejaculated. It was unheard of. There was nothing which Solomon, who had a keen relish for good things to eat, and would have even been extravagant in this one particular, had his firm-willed wife permitted, enjoyed more than an oyster stew, or which he had a chance to taste less often. Oysters could be had in town for sixty cents a quart, a sum that seems not large. But in Mrs. Peasley's mind, they were associated with the elegance and luxury of church sociables, and with the dissipation of supper after country dances. They were extravagant food. Solomon could not believe his nose. He entered the door, and there upon the table stood the big terrine, with two soup plates at Mrs. Peasley's place. There was nothing else but the stew, of course, but it lent a gala air to the whole kitchen. "'Why, syrupty, syrupty,' he said to his wife. "'You ain't going to be arrested,' asked Mrs. Peasley sharply. She wanted no sentiment over her unwanted generosity, but truth to tell, when she had seen Solomon depart that morning, and realized he might be going to arrest, possibly to trial, perhaps to conviction and jail, she had felt a sudden fright, a sudden sympathy for her husband, and she had bought half a pint of oysters for this stew, in spite of the expense. "'No, I ain't going to be arrested,' said Solomon with satisfaction. The grand jury found there wasn't anything to it, but, but, syrupty.' He paused helplessly, unable to express his complex feelings about the stew, and the attitude on the part of his wife, which it revealed. "'Oh, well,' said his wife, after all, taints if you'd gone and lost money.' And after supper, Mr. Peasley carefully poured some skimmed milk into a saucer, and went out to the barn. "'Kitty, kitty,' he called, "'Kitty, come, kitty.'" The Calico Cat did not respond, but in the morning, the saucer was empty. End of Chapter 7 And end of The Calico Cat, read by Allison Hester in Athens, Georgia, in September and October, 2008.